


the poison in my bones

by peachsneakers



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxceit - Freeform, Cuddling, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Morally Neutral Deceit Sanders, Self-Harm, Slight unsympathetic sides, Sympathetic Deceit Sanders, vent fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-11
Updated: 2019-09-11
Packaged: 2020-10-14 12:27:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20600765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peachsneakers/pseuds/peachsneakers
Summary: Deceit has a bad day.





	the poison in my bones

**Author's Note:**

> would i write another vent fic
> 
> yes i would

Deceit eschews his bed in favor of sliding to the floor, discarding his bowler hat to one side.

They all make him so _sick_. Can he _help_ being part-snake? Can he _change_ the scales that meander down one side of his face? He used to _like_ them, the way they framed his one snake eye, the way they glittered in the light. Now all they do is mark him as different, not like them, _wrong_.

Virgil loves him, but it's a mistake. He'll realize it soon enough. He'll have to, if he wants to stay with _them_. They won't want an Anxiety who likes to kiss Deceit's pulse point and cuddle him on a windowsill and bring him snacks when he's too wound up to eat with Remus and too unwelcome to eat with the others. Virgil is the one shining light, but the light burns sometimes, and that's all this can be, proof of his hubris, Icarus flying too close to the sun with melting wings and a ripped capelet.

Almost without thinking about it, one of his arms scours under the bed, bringing forth a knife. It's a small knife, scarcely more than a pocket knife. His hand knows the heft of it well. 

_Virgil will hate you if he finds out,_ his mind whispers. The tip of his tongue automatically flickers out, tasting for the lie. He finds none. Well. It's hard to express the truth of a lie in the unknown, and it _is_ the unknown, because Virgil doesn't know, and Deceit hates himself for it. All the more so because _Virgil_ self harms, Virgil cuts messy lines on his wrists and pounds purple-black blossoms of bruise into his hips and bites his bottom lip until it bleeds. Deceit simply pulls out the first aid kit and offers soft words of comfort, letting Virgil set the tone for what he needs- snuggles, a distraction, or simply to be left alone (though not for _too_ long, or his thoughts will spiral again).

Would Virgil do the same? Deceit knows he would, but that rapacious little voice in the back of his head insists otherwise. _He'll hate you. Look at you in disgust. Tell you how pathetic you are. How useless. How he could do so much better than you. How _Thomas_ could do so much better than you. You're nothing but a dark side and he'll _know_ it-_

Without even thinking (because he knows if he does, he'll talk himself out of it), he strips his gloves off and yanks up his sleeves. It will be fine, he tells himself. Just an arm or two. He has multiple, after all, no one will know the difference. He prefers to keep the extras hidden, anyway. They're yet another thing that mark him as different. Another thing that brand him 'wrong.'

It stings. It always does. Tears burn in the corners of his eyes as he drags the blade across, making it last. He deserves this. He deserves the pain and the cloying metallic scent wreathing his nose and burning his tongue. By the time he's deemed it enough, ten neat ladder lines decorate the inside of one wrist, streaked and smeared with red.

Nausea roils as he looks down at them, flinging the knife aside like it's poison. It _hurts_, but he's used to it as he scrabbles for the first aid kit, unlatching it one-handed. Back turned, he doesn't hear the door open. He just hears Virgil's voice as his boyfriend comes in.

"Dee? Are you in h- Are you okay?"

"Of course I am," Deceit hisses, yanking his sleeve down and wincing at the sizzle of pain as the fabric drags roughly across his abraded skin. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"You have the first aid kit out," Virgil points out uncertainly.

"Just a scratch," Deceit lies. "Better safe than sorry."

"Let me help," Virgil offers, coming closer. His eyes widen in horror and Deceit bites back a curse when he realizes the floor is spattered with blood. "Dee?" Virgil asks in a tiny, scared voice.

_In for a penny,_ Deceit thinks in resignation, and pulls his sleeve back up, exposing the evidence of his recent transgressions to Virgil's shocked gaze. Now the recriminations will come, he thinks, unconsciously hunching his shoulders against them.

"Oh, Dee," Virgil whispers instead, and there is such sadness and more- such _understanding_ in his voice, it makes tears prickle. "Please let me help you."

Deceit nods weakly, unable to speak, and this time, it is Virgil's gentle hands on his arm, wiping away the blood and bandaging it with such care, it makes Deceit's heart ache.

"Thank you," Deceit says hoarsely, when Virgil is done. "I- I understand if you want to leave."

"Leave?" Virgil asks in confusion. "Why would I want to leave?"

"Me," Deceit says, and Virgil's eyes widen.

"What? Why?" He demands. "Because you hurt yourself? I do that all the time and you haven't left _me_. And I can _see_ what you want to say, and no, it's _not_ different when it's you. Not at all. I _love_ you, Dee."

Deceit bursts into tears.

Virgil leaps into action, pulling Deceit to his feet and over to the bed, where he lowers them both and starts carding his fingers through Deceit's unruly hair.

"It will be okay," Virgil murmurs. "I promise. It's okay."

"Thank you," Deceit says, his voice wobbly. "Can you- can you stay the night?"

"Of course," Virgil says, tucking them both in. "I wouldn't leave for the world."


End file.
